To the Class of 2024
Earlier this year, I wrote a commencement speech for the graduating class of 2024. Although it’s dedicated to the students of Nova High School, my alma mater, it universally honors a generation that has faced and overcome many challenges over these past four years. While I didn’t get the chance to deliver the speech, I'm quite proud of how it turned out :)
To the graduating class, faculty, staff, and loved ones.
I’m grateful to be here with you all today and feel appreciative of the opportunity to speak.
I couldn’t have imagined a year ago that I’d be standing here, on a stage, to willingly give a commencement address. I’ve historically dreaded public speaking and swore that I would never do it. I coiled at the thought of fumbling my words or becoming a meme on the internet. Though I may regret sharing this with a room full of Gen Z, the fact that I’m up here, despite any lingering fears or anxieties, must mean that I’ve made great progress.
It can be difficult to celebrate progress in the age of instant gratification and overnight celebrity. As a culture, we’re quick to idolize the victory laps and standout moments. We’re less likely to publicize how difficult it was to merely start, much less make it down the final stretch. But, if you think about it, progress, too, deserves recognition and glory. After all, it’s what brought each of you graduates here today and what we’ve collectively gathered to commemorate.
Class of 2024, consider how many lives you’ve lived since kindergarten. How many steps it took to navigate the whirlwind of your high school experience. I can only imagine how hopeful you must’ve felt ahead of your freshman year, eager to find out if high school was anything like the movies. And then came the pandemic, which forced you to pivot in ways unfamiliar to the graduating classes that came before you. You were expected to maintain your grades, health, sanity, and relationships, all the while building toward a future that proved more uncertain than ever.
Despite the difficulties faced, here you are today, seated in your cap and gown, on the verge of getting your diploma. Graduating class, you have so much to be proud of having made it this far, and I hope you take the time to honor both the journey and the destination you’ve earned.
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I graduated from Nova in 2012, the year the world was supposed to end. You kids were probably too young to remember this doomsday prediction, so I’m speaking to your parents when I say that I have questions for the Mayan civilization.
Was COVID not on your calendar? Couldn’t you have warned us about that instead?
While we’ve collectively faced and endured so much over these past four years, the pandemic was only the tip of the iceberg for you students. A lot has changed since 2012, and it would be an injustice for me not to acknowledge how drastically different the times are.
I’ll give you some perspective. When I attended Nova, Principal Awofadeju was the 12th-grade assistant principal. Lake Nova was one of the world’s seven wonders. And the administrators gave out hall sweeps like candy, which I imagine hasn’t changed much. What’s more memorable: there wasn’t a security guard checking IDs and jotting down license plates at the entrance gate. And believe it or not, that white fence—the one separating the front parking lot from the school campus—didn’t exist in 2012.
You could easily access campus back then, which now seems inconceivable. The freedoms we exercised at the Nova I knew would be a recipe for disaster in today’s climate.
When I attended Nova, Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School was simply referred to as “Douglas” or “Stoneman Douglas” by us locals. Today, the world says its name in full. No longer just “that school in Parkland,” but the one where the 11th worst mass shooting in U.S. history happened.
We had fire drills, tornado drills, and the occasional red and black codes in my day. But an active shooter drill? I never experienced that. I don’t know the procedures, and I couldn’t tell you how to dodge a bullet in class. Defense Against the Dark Arts wasn’t on the syllabus back then, though it’s seemingly been mandated and approved by the Department of Education.
The Department of Education has made many changes since 2012, and I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve had my suspicions about those books they banned. Many of those books nearly killed my chance at a graduation. And between you and me, I have information that will lead to the arrest of Webster’s Dictionary.
I’m only joking, Florida. Please don’t sue me.
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Class of 2024, time has shown you how quickly life can change. How far removed the institutions sworn to serve and protect you. I hope time has also illuminated your values and the people who stand in your corner without fail.
People like your loved ones who took time off from work to see you graduate. People like the teachers who, maybe, didn’t play the role of a friend but saw your potential well before you did. It took a village to get each of you here today, and there will come a time when you stand in awe at the magnitude of their efforts. When they transcend the role of parent, mentor, or coach and into the hero you could never repay.
Perspective is one of the great gifts of getting older. And while I know you’re Gen Z, the self-appointed guardians of the galaxy, I hope you take your time growing up. So many of us are eager to abandon our inner childhood selves, only to find out in adulthood who really calls the shots.
While I encourage you to relish in your youth, know that I find equal value in the journey to adulthood that awaits you. Some of you will be attending the college or university of your dreams, and I congratulate you. You worked tirelessly for this moment, and I hope the experience is everything you wished for and then some. Some of you aren’t heading back to school immediately, or at all, for that matter. I hope your decision rewards you with the adventure and wisdom you’re looking for. And for those of you who won’t be attending your dream school or can’t go to college due to circumstances beyond your control, know that life continues on the other side of disappointment. I hope the day comes when you can reflect on this period with gratitude and understanding.
College wasn’t an option for me when I graduated high school as an undocumented immigrant. Neither was a legal job, a driver’s license, a plane ticket, or entry to a club. What I lacked in opportunity, though, I made up for in determination and learned some invaluable lessons along the way. For one, time has shown me that there are no rules in life, only consequences. That there are no chosen ones, just people who fiercely and unequivocally bet on themselves. That your dreams and ideas don’t have to make sense for them to be just. That redirection and roadblocks are often opportunities to get creative and think bigger.
No matter your trajectory going forward, I encourage you all to work passionately and prioritize time for rest and enjoyment. Separate from the pack every once in a while for the clarity to uncover who you really are. Above all, keep a pulse on that inner voice, which knows your potential, deepest desires, and the pathway forward.
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We’ve spent the last few minutes together, and I have yet to really introduce myself. My name is… in the program, if you’re curious.
It’s not that I’m against telling you who I am or what I’ve done with my life since graduation. In fact, I’m a pretty proper person, so under any other circumstance I would have. I bypass etiquette to remind you of this: the world doesn’t need to know who you are for you to show up and make an impact.
I wouldn’t be standing here today had I allowed society to dictate what I could and couldn’t pursue. After all, commencement speakers are traditionally celebrities, academics, and esteemed public servants. I’m none of the above. Commencement speakers are traditionally invited by school faculty or student body leaders. I was not. I reached out to Nova on April 1st and volunteered as tribute. For full transparency, I contacted Nova only after I’d finished writing this speech, an admittance that feels as symbolic as it does, dare I say, foolish.
When the vision for the speech popped into my head on January 10th, I jotted it down in my Notes app as I do with all my sporadic thoughts and ideas. This one surprised me, though because, again, public speaking. I honored its arrival anyway and looked forward to the day—one well down the line—when I’d earn the opportunity to stand here following extraordinary achievement.
It took me about a month to realize I was doing it again: waiting for permission, for someone to come along and validate my ideas. For someone more senior and decorated than me to confirm I’m worthy of what I want and extend opportunities. Naturally, I began writing immediately.
Class of 2024, it’s easy to forget that there are no prerequisites required to go after your wants and dreams. You can, in fact, start where you are. You don’t have to be the most confident or the most qualified. You don’t have to have an extensive resume or a blue check on social media.
All it takes is for someone like Greta Thunberg to come along and remind us that you need not be a certain age to advocate for the change you want. If not Greta, the students at Stoneman Douglas, who showed us that you don’t need to be a civil rights leader to organize one of the largest Marches on Washington. All it takes is for someone like yourself to go against the grain and empower others to do the same.
You have nothing to lose, Class of 2024. So, put yourself out there, be authentic, and let your worth speak for itself. Be so outstandingly you that it compels others to open the program and find you.